When an heir is born, he is heard to mourn And when ought is to befall That ancient line in the pale of moonshine
He walks from all to hall His form you may trace, but not his face 'tis shadowed by his cowl But his eyes may be seen from the folds between And they seem of a parted soul
Say nought to thim as he walks the hall And he'll say nought to you He sweeps along in his dusky pall
As o'er the grass the dew Then gramercy for the black friar Heaven sain him, fair no foul
And whatsoe'er may be his prayer Let ours be for his soul
When an heir is born, he is heard to mourn And when ouhgt is to befall That ancient line in the pale of moonshine
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